


there's no logic in death

by bilgegungoren00



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Death, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief, Heavy Angst, Loss, TW: mentions/thoughts of suicide, This is gonna be a rough ride, and grief, and pain, like really intense angst, prepare your tissues y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-23 13:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15606912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilgegungoren00/pseuds/bilgegungoren00
Summary: The weird thing about death is you never see it coming. Whether it comes instantly, like a bullet shot through the skull or a noose wrapped around a neck, or it hunts after you for years, when it happens, it’s always unexpected. The death of a terminally ill patient never hurts less than the death of someone taken away so suddenly. There’s no logic in death; no amount of statistics or calculations make it okay. There’s only pain and grief, there’s only the hole left behind by a person that can never come back. It’s the worst kind of goodbye.





	1. unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> first of all, i'm really, really sorry about this. just wanted to say that upfront. i don't even know why i did this to myself, but the idea just came to me, and no matter how much i said i would NOT go there...i did. so i'm sorry. prepare your tissues. i'm not lying.

The weird thing about death is you never see it coming. Whether it comes instantly, like a bullet shot through the skull or a noose wrapped around a neck, or it hunts after you for years, when it happens, it’s always unexpected. The death of a terminally ill patient never hurts less than the death of someone taken away so suddenly. There’s no logic in death; no amount of statistics or calculations make it okay. There’s only pain and grief, there’s only the hole left behind by a person that can never come back. It’s the worst kind of goodbye.

Even androids can’t logic their way through death, through the loss of someone that mattered the world to them. That’s what Connor finds out, in the worst way possible. He doesn’t know what the worst part is: that it comes way too soon, or statistically speaking it should’ve happened way before.

Because you see, there’s one more thing about death. No matter how many times you face it in the past, you never think it will happen to you. No matter how many news stories you read about murders and car accidents and suicides, you always say, _not me, it won’t happen to my family._ You exclude yourself from those stories because that’s just what they are—stories, involving people far away from you, making you think they are somehow special even though you’re just like them. Even though you can die just as easily.

The thing that took Connor off guard was maybe the fact that this should’ve been a simple, easy mission. He planned everything to the most minute detail, he calculated everyone’s chances of survival several times, he made sure he came up with the best possible plan. And yet, still, a stray bullet is what it takes to end it all. One second of distraction, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that is it.

Though it isn’t him that is hurt. It is Lieutenant Anderson, it is Hank, Connor’s friend and father figure for the last couple of years, that bites the bullet while Connor just watches from the sidelines, unable to do anything.

It doesn’t matter whether a death is expected or not. It always turns someone’s world upside down, leaving behind a trail of broken hearts. And watching Hank fall to the ground with a bullet wound in his stomach, Connor definitely feels _his_ world crash and burn. In a second, everything he has worked so hard to build since the android revolution—every project he’s worked on, every case he’s solved for the DPD, every relationship he’s built—loses its meaning. (It’s crazy to think how much just one second change a person—how it can completely rearrange their priorities.) Suddenly, all that matters is Hank, and _Hank is bleeding out in the middle of a fucking abandoned warehouse._

The android stumbles toward the man. He struggles to process what’s happening at first—he struggles to accept it. He can’t even scan Hank to see how much time the man has left—he’s either too scared to know the answer, or the pain is too much to properly use his scanners. The world around him disappears as he goes down on his knees next to the lieutenant—they might as well be alone in the room, as all the police officers, all the criminals, the gunshots and screams and orders suddenly cease to exist. There’s only him, and then there’s Hank on the floor, a hand limply resting on his stomach to cover the wound, a pool of blood forming under his body. There’s so much blood, too much blood, yet it still keeps coming, it still keeps dripping. Connor feels sick, and he knows that he would’ve already thrown up if he was human.

But he isn’t. So instead he inches forward, ignoring the blood staining his pants. He lifts Hank’s body and cradles him in his shaky arms, pressing a hand over the wound as if it would stop the bleeding. As if it would bring the man back to life. With his other hand, he guides Hank’s head so that the man faces him, and an artificial breath gets stuck in his throat when he sees two blue orbs staring back at him blankly.

Connor tries to scan Hank—surely he can’t be dead, right? It is Hank, and Hank has survived worse injuries than this one. (This was an easy mission—just drawing out the criminals into this warehouse and then arresting them. This shouldn’t have happened. This wasn’t the part of the plan.) Yet error messages pop up in Connor’s field of vision, preventing his scanners. He can’t scan Hank—not that he needs to. His logical side knows what it would tell him anyway.

But again, there’s no logic in death. And Connor can’t accept that he’s just lost Hank.

He presses a bloody hand on the lieutenant’s cheek. “Hank?” he whispers. His voice is thin and filled with static. Error messages keep popping up yet Connor just dismisses them—it’s not surprising, really, as he feels like someone is tearing him up from inside out. He’s never felt a pain like this.

“Hank?” he says again, but there’s no answer. “Look at me, please, Hank? Can you just look at me?” At this point, he’s pleading, as useless as it is. His ears are ringing so much that all he can hear is his thirium pump beating irregularly. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to just ask why, why, _why_ , yet he’s in shock and all he can do is stare at Hank. He hugs the man’s shoulders to bring him close—maybe if Hank knows he isn’t alone, it will be easier for him to come back. Maybe if he knows Connor is there for him, he’ll wake up. He’d stay. “I’m here with you. I’m here, Hank. I’m not leaving you. Just…look at me. Everything will be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

He doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince anymore. It must be himself, though, because he knows Hank can’t hear him. He knows, yet he can’t accept it, not this quickly, not without _fighting._ On the off chance that this might work, he can’t stop.

He squeezes Hank’s shoulders, maybe a bit too tightly for a human, yet he doesn’t care. “Dad?” he whispers, his voice cracking in the middle. He’s never called Hank “dad”, even though he’s thought about it a lot and Hank has told him several times that he saw Connor as a son. But in every way that counts, Hank has been his dad. His family—his only family. And now… “Dad, please don’t leave me. Not just yet. I’m not… I’m not ready.” It is too early for Hank to leave. Of course, Connor knows the man isn’t— _wasn’t_ —young, and he will have to lose him eventually, but _not this soon._ Not when they still have so much to do.

He reaches out to hold Hank’s hand, his vision blurring as a fluid fills his eyes. Connor has never cried before, yet he figures he’s about to. “You promised to show me the world, dad,” he chokes out, remembering all the things Hank has told him they could do. “Remember? We were… We were going to watch all the old Disney films that—that you said everyone was obligated to watch. I didn’t even look up anything about them so I could enjoy it for the first time, with you.” He stops, waiting for an answer that he knows isn’t going to come. The first of the tears escapes his eyes.

“And…and you were going to show me the ocean. You said we would walk by the beach barefoot so that I could feel the sand underneath me. And then we would watch the sunset—you said sunsets by the beach were different and special.” Connor can feel his audio processor failing—the errors are too much and his words aren’t more than a bunch of static at this point. He is sure nobody can understand him—but it doesn’t matter. Maybe Hank hears. Maybe he understands. He knows Connor better than anyone.

“And you said we would go to an aquarium,” he continues, sobs lining his throat and disrupting his already unintelligible words. “I said I loved fish, and you said you could show me all kinds of them. And…and you said I could even get one for myself. A fish of my own. You said I could take care of it.” He blinks his tears away to look at Hank, only to see that the man hasn’t moved at all. His tears are streaming down continuously now. He reaches up to cup Hank’s cheek.

“Dad?” he whispers. No answer. Hank just keeps staring at the ceiling.

“Dad? Come back to me, please. You can’t leave me now. You can’t leave me.” Silence.

“I can’t do it without you, dad. I need you. Please. I need you. I need…you.” The sobs overwhelm him. He can’t speak anymore. His field of vision is covered with error messages. He leans forward to bury his face to Hank’s shoulder. His body is already cold, reminding Connor of the life that is stolen from him.

He is crying outright now. His throat is hurting, his body is shaking, yet he can’t stop. He cries for the man whose life is taken from him too early. He cries for the world for losing such a good man like this. He cries for his own loss, for the father who has taught him how to live, for the empty life that now stretches out in front of him.

He cries for the unfairness of death, always hitting those who don’t deserve it.

He feels a hand on his shoulder after a while—he doesn’t know when. He hears voices, presumably telling him to step back, to let go—but he can’t let go. He has to protect Hank. He has to protect his body. What if he turns back and Hank wakes up? What if he leaves and Hank comes back? He can’t risk it. He has to stay.

Someone holds his arm to pull him away, but he screams, he fights to hold on. He can’t let go. Don’t they know? He can’t let go. He has to stay with Hank. He has to stay with his dad. He has to stay awake, stay attentive; he has to be there for Hank.

But the errors are too many, the pain is too overwhelming, and he’s just too exhausted. His stress levels are too high. He knows he’s close to an emergency shutdown—his body can’t take the pressure anymore. It needs to preserve itself, no matter how much Connor fights it.

Darkness swallows him, and the last thing he feels is his cheek pressing against a shoulder and his hand holding onto another, trying not to let go.


	2. worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor visits Hank's grave.
> 
> TW: mentions/thoughts of suicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all!
> 
> sorry this took me some time to write - the last few days have been a bit crazy here, and i'm kinda sick so like i barely find the energy to do anything, but i'm also really into this story (because for some reason i love hurting myself) so i wanted to get this out there as soon as i could. hope it's not too late!
> 
> anyway, that said, hopefully i'll get the next chapter out more quickly. :)

Emptiness. That’s what he feels. Empty, like the barren land stretching at all sides, interrupted only by gravestones of people who aren’t in this world anymore. And now, his father is one of them, lying next to his son.

_Hank Anderson  
Beloved father_

He wants to scream. It has been building inside him for the last couple of days, all throughout the planning of the funeral, actually going through with it, and now, visiting the grave for the first time. He wants to scream because he hasn’t had the chance. He wanted to be respectful, he wanted to honor this man who’d meant so much to him, so he kept it all in. But now that it’s all over he’s just too tired. He’s too tired to even speak, let alone scream. He just sits there, in front of Hank’s grave, watching the incredibly empty gravestone.

He knows that it was Hank’s wish that the epitaph simply said “beloved father” honoring both Cole and Connor, but it seems dull considering all that he’s accomplished with the police force. All the people he’s saved, the criminals he’s locked up, the lives he’s changed… Hank was a hero, even in his darkest times. And now no one will remember it. Years into the future someone looking at this gravestone will only see Hank as a father and nothing more.

It doesn’t feel fair to Connor. Hank was so much more. He should be remembered as so much more.

His mind flashes back to the funeral. It was incredibly crowded—police officers from all over Detroit coming to honor the person they all have at least heard of. The youngest lieutenant who took down a huge red ice operation. Most people there haven’t even met Hank at all. If Connor wasn’t in such a dark place, he might’ve felt honored. Yet he just felt _betrayed._ All these people were pretending to be sad for a person they didn’t know—they couldn’t possibly know. Not in the way Connor knew Hank. The android felt like they didn’t deserve to be there.

Yet he kept quiet—just for Hank. Hank deserved a proper funeral. Hank deserved to be honored, even though he knew exactly what Hank would say if he could see the funeral himself. “All these fucking strangers pretending like they care. Shit, if I knew this was what I’d be leaving behind, I’d try not to die.”

A smile pulls Connor’s lips at that, a smile that dies very quickly, replaced by tears. He’s reminded again of the fact that Hank is not here anymore. He will never see the man again. Even if there is a god and there is an afterlife, Connor knows it’s for humans—not for androids. He’s died too many times to know there’s nothing after death for him—no _android heaven,_ as Hank called it once. He’ll just be…gone.

The idea used to terrify him. The idea to perish. To be gone, forever. It doesn’t anymore, not really. He realized he was only afraid because he didn’t want to miss out on anything. Now, though, he doesn’t see anything worth living for. The future only made sense before because Hank was around. Because he would be able to experience it with him—with a _family._

He’s never had a family before. He believed he’d never have one either—androids have creators, not parents. Until Hank. Until the man took him in without question.

After the android revolution, Connor was sure he’d spend a whole lot of time on the streets until he managed to find a place. But Hank reached out to him and gave him a place to live in. They reworked the garage to serve as Connor’s room, as Hank didn’t have an extra room for him. Connor objected at first, but then Hank gave him one of his just-shut-the-fuck-up looks and that was that.

Hank did everything to make sure Connor was welcome and happy in his house—in his life. Connor didn’t know how good it would feel to _belong_ to somewhere—Cyberlife had never been his home, after all—yet with Hank, he belonged somewhere. He had somewhere to go to when he felt sad, when he needed a hug, when he needed to just talk. To feel safe. To feel alive.

Now where will he go? He surely can’t go _home._ It doesn’t even feel like a home anymore. After Hank’s death, he only went there once—to collect some of Hank’s belongings for the funeral and drop Sumo off with their neighbor. He was planning on staying there, but the house just felt so…so _empty._ So hollow that it was overwhelming. The lack of sound—of Hank’s gruff laughter, of the sports games he always watched, of his lackluster attempts at cooking—was deafening. He couldn’t stay there anymore.

He’s been outside since then, just rambling around, feeling glad that he doesn’t need to sleep.

He blinks to bring himself back to reality. “What will I do without you, Hank?” he whispers to the grave, knowing he won’t have an answer. “Who will teach me how to live? Who will I talk to when I’m down? Who will hug me when I need it? Who will be my family?” Tears start streaming down his face. He doesn’t attempt to stop them. He fists his hands on the ground, the grass tickling his palms. He suddenly feels the urge to throw something. He knows it doesn’t make sense—this destructive behavior. But he feels something breaking inside him, and he wants to lash out. He wants the world to crumble around him because his world has crumbled down. He can’t even care anymore. Not about his job, not about the rules and regulations he’s been so adamant to follow, not even about his life. He wants everything to just be…gone.

He reaches for the gun resting in its holster. He took it with him, just in case. Not to protect himself, but… If everything becomes too much for him to handle. He knew he couldn’t kill himself before the funeral, but now that everything was over…

No one will miss him. He knows that. And he doesn’t have anything left to stay for. He now understands Hank. Understands why he found solace in alcohol when Cole died. Understands why he played Russian roulette and he was so reckless with his life. Hank didn’t see anything worth living for. Connor told him it was wrong, over and over again, that he could find something else to live for, but then he didn’t know the pain of loss, and the emptiness that follows it. But now that he’s been through it, he can’t think of anything that can possibly chase the pain and emptiness away, that can possibly make life worthy.

What does it matter if he lives or dies? It will be the same. _Nothing._ There will be nothing.

He draws the gun, looking at it for a couple of seconds before turning the safety off. He can feel his thirium pump pounding as he presses the barrel under his chin. Yet somehow, he doesn’t feel afraid. He feels at peace, knowing he won’t have to live without Hank. He might not be able to meet the man in afterlife, but at least he won’t see a life without him either. He’ll die with happy memories, none of them tainted by loneliness. He’ll die happy.

He looks over the grave. He knows, if Hank is watching him, that the man would be disappointed. He wouldn’t want Connor to die. But the thing is, Hank isn’t here—and who knows, maybe afterlife doesn’t exist and Hank is just nowhere. He is just gone.

“I’m sorry, Hank,” he whispers, blinking away his tears. “I understand now. Why you tried to kill yourself after Cole. I get it.” He gulps and closes his eyes, his hand resting on the trigger. He hesitates for a moment, just for a moment—

“Connor!” When he hears his name being called, his eyes flicker open. He quickly hides the gun, putting it back in its holster. Not because he changed his mind, but he doesn’t want an audience.

Especially not the audience of one of his best friends: Markus.

He looks up to see the android coming towards him, with company as well. Simon, his boyfriend, is next to Markus, and North and Josh are following them. Connor quickly wipes his tears and puts on an empty face. He may not be able to smile, but he can convince them that he is okay—at least, as okay as he can be.

“We were wondering where you were,” Markus continues as he approaches Connor, a frown on his face. Connor can easily read his expression: worry. His friends are worried about him. “When we couldn’t find you at your house, we were worried…” Markus trails off, but Connor knows what he’s talking about. They thought he killed himself—not that they would be wrong if they were a couple of seconds late. He can’t find it in himself to feel ashamed. He just stares at Markus blankly, having no energy to deal with the situation.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, Markus,” he says, but the other android seems to disagree. His eyes turn to Connor’s gun, and his frown deepens. Connor doesn’t move to hide the gun. “You should just leave me be. I’m okay.”

It is Simon that kneels next to Connor. Simon, who’s probably the softest of the gang, but not in a bad way. He has a way with people—he always understands what they’re going through and tries to help them. He never judges anyone, he never acts out, never raises his voice. In a way, Markus and him shouldn’t work at all; Markus, with his strong voice and rough personality, is Simon’s polar opposite. Yet that is exactly why they work.

In a way, Hank and Connor weren’t very similar either. Yet they managed to make it work as well. They became family.

The thought just tightens Connor’s chest more, so he quickly gets rid of it. He focuses on Simon.

“We don’t want you to be alone right now,” the android tells him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Connor stays silent. “You know you’re always welcome at Jericho.” Of course, Simon doesn’t mean the now-destroyed freighter when he says that. He means the community center built for androids who don’t have anywhere else to live. A safe haven. While androids have equal rights now, some humans still don’t see them as equals, and crimes against androids are still incredibly high. Jericho has once been a place of freedom and safety for androids, and it still serves the same job.

But Connor doesn’t belong to Jericho. He doesn’t belong anywhere anymore.

“Thank you for the offer, but I already have somewhere to stay.” _Here,_ Connor thinks. Even if he won’t be here mentally, his body will.

Simon still doesn’t look convinced. He looks up at Markus for help, but the other android is at a loss as well. None of them knows how to deal with this. They all have lost people, but none that were as close as Hank and Connor. They all still have something to live for. They can’t relate. They can’t understand.

There’s no logic in death, and they can’t apply logic to solve this.

“Your house looks like no one has been there for days, Connor—“ Simon starts but Connor cuts him.

“I wasn’t talking about Hank’s house.” Tears fill his eyes again. He tries to push them away. “I think you should just leave me alone.” His hand twitches. He just wants to end this all, as quickly as possible. This is just delaying the inevitable.

“Connor,” North steps forward this time. “Don’t make such a hasty decision. Give it some time.” The words don’t even faze Connor. This isn’t a hasty decision. He’s thought through this. He knows what he wants.

“I just want to be alone,” he repeats. Can’t they just leave him alone for once?

Simon stands up a couple of seconds later, and Connor feels hopeful. But then it is Markus next to him, and while he stays standing, he does step in front of Connor, carefully, to make sure he has the android’s attention. “We will leave you alone,” he says quietly. His voice isn’t forcing Connor to do anything—it is just sad. He may not be able to understand his friend, but Connor’s pain hurts him as well. “But we need to show you something first. After you see it, you can do whatever you want. We promise you.” Connor looks up at Markus, and he knows the others don’t agree with the android. He knows that North probably wants to lock him in a room to make sure he’s safe and Simon and Josh are ready to put him under 24/7 surveillance. But Markus’s one look stops them.

Connor thinks about it for a second. What can they show him? Nothing he sees can change his mind, he knows. But he doesn’t have anything to lose. If the last thing he does is to give his friends what they want, then he can do it.

He takes Markus’s hand and stands up. The group, obviously relieved, lead him to a car silently. He can hear them whisper about him, about his gun, and he knows that they want to take it away. But they don’t. They just leave him be, only making sure that he is following them.

He has promised them that he’ll see what they have to show him, and they know he won’t try to do anything now. They probably think they still have a chance—that they might save him.

They don’t know that he’s already made up his mind.


	3. reconstruct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus shows Connor a video that changes everything.
> 
> TW: mentions of suicide

Soon enough they are in Carl Manfred’s house, where Markus has made his home. While he has spent most of his days in the new Jericho since the android revolution, he lives with the painter, whom he’s always seen as a father figure. Connor can understand that.

Carl, of course, welcomes them as always and gives Connor his condolences. Because of his health condition, he couldn’t attend the funeral. Connor doesn’t blame the man. He knows how much he cares about Markus, and hence Connor as well.

He knows, but he can’t even smile at the man’s heartfelt words. He just wants to get over with this. He wants to see whatever Markus has to show him, and then he wants to get out of here and finish what he started. The gun is still tucked in his belt. He hasn’t changed his mind.

He doesn’t think he will.

Markus and the others lead him to the living room, and Carl leaves to give them some privacy. He is then seated in front of a computer. Markus puts a hand on his shoulder for comfort. “Connor, Hank loved you,” he says. Connor just presses his lips together, trying to push back his tears. He knows. Of course Hank loved him. That’s why his loss hurts this much. “He would never want you to hurt yourself.”

“I know,” Connor whispers. “But he isn’t here anymore.” Hank isn’t here to stop Connor from killing himself. Hank is gone, and he has left Connor behind to pick up the broken pieces. But the android can’t do it. He’s not strong enough. He may be a state-of-the-art prototype, he may have hundreds of fighting techniques stored in his memory, he may have the most detailed analyzing system, and yet when it comes to emotional pain there’s nothing he can do. He can’t make it better. It is too much.

Markus doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses a couple of buttons on the computer, and a video pops up. A video…

Connor freezes. It is Hank. Hank is in the video.

Connor wants to ask how. How does Markus have this video? Why does it even exist in the first place? When did Hank record this and gave it to Markus? Yet he can’t. His tongue is tied, his thirium pump is beating irregularly, and all he can do is watch.

Hank, with a frown on his face, adjusts the camera. “Is this shit working…?” he mutters to himself, tapping on the lens. “Cause I ain’t recording this again.” He then pulls back, straightening up. Connor is transfixed, watching the lieutenant’s every movement. He feels like crying, but he is too shocked for the tears to come. Too shocked to see Hank, his father, again—in a way, at least.

Hank offers the camera a small smile. “Hey, Connor.” This time, Connor blinks, and his eyes turn to Markus. He has too many questions, yet Markus just gestures him to watch before he says anything. He looks back at the screen. It almost hurts to see Hank after everything that has happened, but Connor can’t stop watching. The man recorded this _for him._ He has to watch.

“If you’re watching this right now, it means I’m probably dead. Shit, that sounded like a horrible sci-fi movie. Fuck, anyway. You get what I mean. You know, I hope it was a bullet in the head or something. Don’t wanna leave a mess behind.” Connor can’t help wincing at that. He knows the lieutenant’s sense of humor can be dark at times, but the wound is too fresh. He can still feel Hank’s blood in his hands.

“Anyway, you’re probably asking yourself what the fuck this is, although I guess in much nicer words. Well, I was thinking this last couple of days that being a police isn’t the safest job out there. Fuck, I can’t count how many times I got close to dying because of it. And, well… I didn’t want my last words to you to be something bad. You can’t control death, and especially when you die. So I’m recording this to give you a better goodbye. I’ll probably leave it with Markus or something…if I can do this without fucking it up, that is.” Hank leans back in his chair, and Connor has to blink to push away his tears. He lifts his hand and presses his shaky fingers on the screen.

“Dad…” he whispers. He wants to say something. He wants to tell Hank that he doesn’t mind that the lieutenant is rambling. He wants to say that he loves him. Yet he stops himself because he wants to hear more. He wants to hear his father’s voice more.

“Even now I won’t pretend like my death wouldn’t fuck you up.” Hank’s voice is suddenly softer, more soothing, as if he knew how Connor would feel watching the video. “You saw how Cole’s death fucked me up. Shit, I don’t even remember how many fucking rounds of Russian roulette I played. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. I mean, I was still alive. _Anyway,_ what I’m trying to say is, I tried to kill myself after losing Cole because I thought I couldn’t live with the pain and emptiness in my chest. I couldn’t imagine a life without my baby life. It just seemed…pointless.” An artificial breath gets hitched in Connor’s throat. He knows exactly what Hank means. He’s been on both sides of the equation—watching Hank throw his life away, and just moments ago doing it himself for the same reasons. He wants to say that he understands Hank now, finally, but the video is faster. “But if I died, I wouldn’t have met you now, would I?”

Connor freezes. He knows, of course, that Hank has improved substantially over the time he’s been with Connor. But the android has never imagined he had a direct impact. He’s never imagined Hank changed for him; he just thought it was a by-product of having someone around.

“I wouldn’t have met you with all your goofy smiles and weird looks, with your unending love and care for Sumo, with your insistence that I eat those fucking horrible salads instead of burgers, and with _you,_ bringing me back to life when I didn’t even know what that meant anymore. You made me want to live, Connor. You know I haven’t thought about killing myself for weeks? It’s a fucking record for me. And that’s _you_. That’s thanks to _you,_ son. I know you think I’ve been teaching you how to live, but shit, you’ve been doing the same for me as well. And I’m glad I didn’t kill myself before. I’m glad I met you, Connor.

“So, where I’m trying to get with all this bullshit is that, if you think of killing yourself after my death—don’t. You don’t know what life might throw in your way. You will go through some shitty times, I’ll be honest, but somewhere along the way, you might meet someone that will change everything. Don’t throw away that opportunity. You only have this life now, Connor—you’re not coming back if you die—and I want you to use it. And if there is an afterlife and I see you doing something stupid like putting a bullet in your head, I won’t care if there isn’t an android heaven—I will figure out a way to find your android soul and kick your ass.” Connor sees Hank smile at the camera with those last words, as if he’s proud of himself. But then his smile melts into something more genuine. He reaches and presses his fingers on the lens, and Connor can’t help moving his own fingers over Hank’s.

“I love you, son,” Hank whispers. Connor can’t find his voice, his throat feels too knotted, but he can still mouth the words. _I love you, dad._

The video closes, and for a second there’s silence in the room. Silence as Connor’s eyes fill with tears and sobs line his throat, and this time he can’t push them back. Guilt, pain and grief are churning in his stomach, mixing with one another. He can’t believe he thought about killing himself. He can’t believe he was about to do it before Markus came. Androids just gained their rights last year, and he almost threw all that away. He almost disappointed _Hank—_ because he knew Hank would be incredibly disappointed if he knew about it.

He feels Markus’s hands on his shoulder, and then the android circles his arms around him and lets him bury his face into his t-shirt. North, Josh and Simon are there too, wrapping him in a group hug as if they’re trying to tell him that he’s not alone. They let him cry until he’s too tired to cry. They let him ramble out his thoughts without interrupting. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, balling Markus’s shirt in his fists. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to.” He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, yet he gets the words out because it feels so much better than trying to keep them inside. He tried that, and it almost resulted in him putting a bullet in his head.

He shivers. He pulls back from Markus only briefly to reach for the gun. Panic flares in the other android’s eyes, but Connor just puts the weapon away. He doesn’t trust himself with it. He doesn’t want to be tempted.

Markus kneels in front of him and puts his hands on his knees. “We’re here for you, Connor,” he says, his voice firm. “I know it isn’t the same, but we’re still here.” Connor just nods. He knows what Markus is trying to say. And he remembers Hank’s words. Right now, everything might seem…shitty, as Hank would say, but tomorrow is a new day. You never know.

“I know, Markus,” he says. And for the first time in days, he can think clearly. “Thank you.” _For saving me._ He doesn’t say the words, but he knows Markus gets it. The android offers him a smile.

Just yesterday Connor felt like there was no way he could smile again. But now, smiling doesn’t feel too hard.

It isn’t real yet, not completely, but it’s something.

* * *

It’s late in the night when Connor arrives home. Markus and the others insisted that he stay with them—he knows they’re still worried, even after he promised he wouldn’t try to kill himself—but he wants to be back home. Sumo must’ve missed him, and besides…he wants to feel close to his dad. As much as it hurts, he doesn’t want to forget him. He doesn’t want to just leave the house and pretend like it’s all okay.

He needs to let himself feel before he can move on. He needs to accept Hank’s death, and what better way to do it than at home?

Of course, the moment he comes, Sumo welcomes him by jumping on him and licking his face. A smile creeps on his face. Again, not a real one, but still an improvement. It is better than nothing.

He scratches the back of the dog’s ears. “Hey, buddy,” he whispers to the dog. “Missed me?” Sumo just whimpers, sitting in front of Connor and licking his hand.

Connor thanks his neighbor for taking care of the dog, and then takes the dog back to the house. His hands are shaking as he unlocks the door. Sumo, of course, trots in immediately the moment the door is pushed open. Connor is slower. He steps in carefully, flicking on the lights, and stands there for a while.

It’s weird to be back here, and for a moment he questions whether it’s healthy or not. But he can’t go back now. He has to do it.

He drags his feet inside, even though all he wants is to run away and hide. This house holds too many memories. The couch, where Connor and Hank spent most of their evenings watching whatever Hank deemed necessary for Connor to watch. They’d just finished watching the Harry Potter series when…

He pushes the thought away immediately.

And then there’s the kitchen, where Connor, having uploaded several recipes to his system, tried to teach Hank how to cook. He can say that he knows why the lieutenant never became a cook. But still, the important thing wasn’t whether Hank was successful or not—it was that they did it together.

And the kitchen table, where they would scatter the case files and work on them when there was an especially important case. Even though Connor was more efficient in connecting the evidence, Hank would always have something to contribute. He knew human nature better than Connor, and some crimes could never be explained through logic.

He sees Hank’s DPD sweater resting on the couch’s arm. He takes it and sits down. He wishes he could smell it—he is sure it would still have Hank’s scent on it. Yet he can’t, so he just presses it over his chest for a couple of seconds, trying to push back his tears. He sees Sumo come to his side, as if the dog knows that he needs the support right now. He smiles sadly at the dog.

“You know he loved this sweater, Sumo?” he whispers. The dog doesn’t say anything, but he does rest his head on Connor’s knee. The android runs his fingers through his fur. “Of course you knew. You were with him longer than I was.” Sumo whimpers, as if he feels the lieutenant’s loss as well. As if he misses him as well.

Connor’s vision blurs when tears fill his eyes. “What are we going to do without him?” he asks the dog, even though he knows there’s no answer to that. Not yet at least. They’ll have to figure it out along the way. There’ll be ups and downs, there’ll be days he feels somewhat better and days he won’t even want to leave the house, but they’ll figure it out.

Connor looks at the sweater in his hands. He is holding it tightly so that he can feel closer to Hank, but suddenly it isn’t enough.

He doesn’t think as he does it. He wears the sweater.

It looks bulky on him, as if it’s swallowing his body. He’s much thinner and smaller than Hank. Yet it feels safe. It feels warm, just like being in Hank’s arms. Hank once told him that he loved it when Cole fell asleep in his arms, especially while they were watching TV. While Connor doesn’t sleep, he does have a “rest mode” that functions sort of like sleep. So sometimes, when he was watching something with Hank, he went into rest mode in the lieutenant’s arms, just to give him that feeling again.

They never talked about it, but from the smile Hank had on his face the next morning, he knew that Hank enjoyed it as well. He enjoyed being a dad again.

Connor looks at the corner of the couch, and then he closes his eyes, turning on his reconstruction system. He scans his memory for all the nights he fell asleep here, and he finds the one he needs. When he opens his eyes, it’s as if Hank is there, sitting next to him, one arm thrown over the back of the couch and a smile on his face. Connor moves closer to Hank and rests his head against the lieutenant’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He remembers exactly how this feels. And he knows it’s impossible, but he can almost feel Hank’s touch when the man wraps his arm around his shoulders.

“You’ll always be here for me, dad, right?” he whispers. Not the exact words he spoke that night, but it’s close enough. The feeling behind it is the same.

Hank ruffles his hair and presses a kiss on his forehead. “Always, kid,” he answers, his voice so close yet so far away. Connor slowly initiates his rest mode. The last thing he feels is Hank’s hand resting where his thirium pump is.

“I’ll always be right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soo i'm gonna be honest, this was a pretty hard fic to write. like, i'm not much of an emotional person, but i've lost someone close to me just over a year ago and it really doesn't get any better. so my initial plan for this fic was different - i wanted to make it a happy ending, like Hank's death would be fake and shit or whatever, but...after a second thought, it just didn't sit right with me. life isn't always unicorns and rainbows, sometimes shit happens and you lose someone and there's no going back from that. and i wanted to reflect that. so i tried to make it more of a bittersweet ending instead - not quite happy, but not completely painful either. i hope you liked it!


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